


Sticks, Stones, Animal Bones

by batty4u



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, Witches, harvey's still a lawyer, mike's a witch, thats pretty much it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batty4u/pseuds/batty4u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In New York, the Coven Mother's have one rule: Don't fall for a Mortal. More importantly, don't fall for a Suit. Mike, a young witch who'd never been all that good at following the coven rules, managed to do both all in one short day, when he happened upon one Harvey R. Specter on the Northern Border of Central Park.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The North Wind Cometh

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is technically my Halloween fic that I was going to finish and post on Halloween, but school is making it difficult, so I'm starting early and posting a chapter every couple days. The Craft dealt with here is a mix of my own interpretations and legitimate magical practices used by witches today, so if you have questions I can hopefully answer them. There will be some graphic violence but not until the end, some demonic mayhem and certain characters are going to suffer, but hopefully you'll enjoy this as much as I am.
> 
> Let me know what you think~

Autumn in New York was probably the best time of year. Frank Sinatra had sung about it, there was a parade to celebrate the biggest fall holiday, Central Park became a fiery wonderland of color and coffee stands. It was perfect, even as the air grew cold and the threat of winter haunted the horizon. Not that winter was in anyway less than autumn, but Mike cherished the month of red and gold that blanketed the city.

Leaves crunched under his boots as he made his way through the park, carefully lighting a cigarette and sighing as the smoke filled his lungs. He needed to add a bit more allspice to the mix, maybe a little less apple to balance out the flavor, but otherwise the batch of smokes had been pretty much successful. He’d have to make another for Mr. Olsen, add a bit of chamomile to them to help calm his anxiety. Maybe he’d make a separate anxiety batch too, a mix of chamomile and lavender to settle the nerves.  
Mike tucked his matchbook back into his pocket and smiled as a sharp, chilly breeze blew by, nipping at his nose and fingers. It was early October, still plenty of time before the core of autumn had settled in around them, still time before winter came knocking and the north wind returned in full and the earth beneath the city fell into a deathlike slumber. He’d have to reinforce the apartment, just to be safe. Even nasty things liked to hide from the cold, taking refuge in unsuspecting apartments. Last year, when the snow had come, he’d been stuck with a rather nasty boggart for a few weeks. It had alternated between his bed and his closet, scaring him shitless whenever he stumbled on it. He never wanted to look at a clown ever again. 

“You’re going to be late.”

Mike glanced up at the crow perched on a nearby lamppost. It was watching him carefully, head cocked to the side in the usual curious, if not judgmental nature that birds always seemed to have about them. 

“If I didn’t know any better, Trevor, I’d say you were worried,” Mike mused, taking a drag from the cigarette and blowing out a few smoke rings. 

“I’m not worried,” the crow snapped.

“Bullshit.”

“Mike-”

“Trevor it is as basic a job as any,” Mike waved to the coffee cart guy as he passed, Trevor ruffling his feathers in annoyance and jumping down to settle on Mike’s shoulder. “We go in, I make the trade, cast the spell, we go home and celebrate with a bottle of elderberry wine and chinese food.”

“And if it’s a trap?”

“You set it up, Trev. Is it a trap?”

Trevor snapped his beak at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Alright then, I trust you.” Mike reached up to scratch at Trevor’s neck. “Stop worrying, dude.”

His familiar rolled his eyes at him but nipped lovingly at his fingers never the less.

The trade was more of an unconventional expulsion than anything. Mike had gotten a call from a neighbor, asking if he would be willing to help a friend of her’s get rid of a poltergeist that had been messing around with his bookshop. In exchange, he had a collection of almanacs he was ready to pass on, almanacs Mike didn’t yet have and desperately needed for the coming winter. He had sent Trevor ahead a day or two before, to meet the man and see what needed to be done. It was routine. All Mike had to do was turn up, give the man the protective amulet to hang in his store, take the almanacs and expel the poltergeist. 

Easy.

Of course when the poltergeist took a tangible form and managed to wrap it’s gnarled boney hands around Mike’s neck, under the command of the store’s owner, it became significantly less easy.

In New york City alone there were four Covens of Witches: The North Woods, The Magistrates, The Ravens, and The Brethren. The North Woods and Ravens, the first of which Mike technically counted himself a part of, were morally obligated to do good where they were able and not tell the entire city of their existence. In Archetypal terms, they were the good witches, the white witches, the ones you would go to when you had a monster under your bed or a curse on your family. They were made up of healers, guides, teachers, and guardians, and Mike was proud to say he was more or less one of them. The Magistrates were the oldest Coven in New York and their moral code was a little more skewed than they were willing to admit. They believed in the old ways, in magic being the key to power, that one day, a day that never seemed to come, they would have their proper dominion over everyone. They were, if Mike were to compare them to anything, like the old school Mafia. If you stayed out of their way and helped them when asked, they would bless you and bestow gifts on you and your family. You insulted them, and they’d probably turn you into an insect and crush you, thus making sure no one would ever know.

Then there was the Brethren. 

The Brethren gave all witches a pretty shitty reputation. They were the classic, almost cliche caricature of evil pains in the ass, who turned people into animals for sheer amusement, set houses on fire, terrorized the masses and believed wholeheartedly that one day they would rule over man and magick folk alike. Their Moral code said nothing about whether it was wrong to kill a fellow witch, and Mike’s coven had lost several to the hands of the Brethren and their madness.

And of course, Mike had walked right into a Brethren’s domain without even realizing it. It was that kind of stupidity that got young witches killed or possessed, that made them vanish without a trace, and Mike had always sworn never to be that goddamn stupid.

The irony of it all wasn’t lost on him, even as he was fighting for his life. 

He could hear the Brethren Witch’s commands from the front of the store, where he stood with a spell book in hand. The Poltergeist had Mike pinned to the far wall, it’s talon-like nails biting at the skin of Mike’s neck. On the order, it would snap his neck, or cut off his head, or something equally as horrific and pathetically cliche. Trevor had vanished, whether to escape or get help Mike wasn’t sure. The amulet lay broken at the Brethren’s feet, shattered and useless. 

This was not how he had wanted to spend his day, Mike thought to himself.

He caught sight of Trevor outside the shop windows, the large crow waiting for a clear shot before flying into the shop and diving at the Brethren Witch like a kamikaze pilot. Concentration broken, the witch lost control over the poltergeist for a moment, giving Mike enough time to banish it. The spell was simple, engraved in his memory, the words a familiar taste on his tongue.

“Recesserimus,” He commanded. “Vinculis solvi, expello.”

The poltergeist vanished with an almost grateful smile, leaving Mike with the Brethren Witch. On any other day he probably would have fought him, but he was bleeding, his power drained, and Trevor’s wing was hurt.

So they ran.

They ran until Mike’s legs gave out on him, causing him to collapse on the outskirts of Central Park’s northern border. He fought with his body to keep breathing, hands pressed to his neck to stop the blood, hot and sticky on his skin. Trevor tumbled to the ground behind Mike and shifted into a dog, panting and whining in pain.

“What hurts, buddy?” Mike asked, feeling a thrill of panic. “What happened?”

Trevor’s paw was sprained, which as painful as that probably was it was nothing compared to what would have happened had they stayed any longer. Mike let out a sigh of relief and pressed a hand to the injured paw, shushing Trevor’s whimpers as he healed it with a gentle touch.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor said, ears flat against his head in shame.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I should have known.”

“Trevor, enough.” Mike snapped. 

“You’re angry,” Trevor looked away.

“No. No I’m not angry,” Mike told him, petting his dark fur. “Just scared.” Trevor nuzzled his hand and crawled closer, his head resting on Mike’s thigh. “We’ll have to tell the coven mother.” Trevor huffed. “Hey we almost died, okay? I’m not about to stop following the rules just because you don’t feel like it.”

“She’s creepy.”

“She’s the boss, she’s supposed to be.”

“Now what?” Trevor asked.

“Now,” Mike said, letting out a slow breath. “We wait until I can feel my legs again.”

They sat there on the edge of the sidewalk for close to an hour, Mike’s legs aching and throbbing as feeling came back to them. His neck stopped bleeding freely, but the dried blood was still a nasty sight to see. It was stuck to his fingerless gloves in clumps, so he pulled them off and stowed them in his bag. They hadn’t gotten the almanacs, which set them back several weeks. While Mike may have had a good memory, one that set him far above most of his coven brothers and sisters, he still needed the source material to study before he could prepare for the change in seasons.

Several of the almanacs would be out of date, from the years before, but that didn’t make them any less useful. If Mike had them he could do his own studies, figure out the patterns in lunar cycles and positions of the stars without the help of the coven teachers, he could be self sufficient in preparation for the winter solstice. Nothing infuriated him more than having to adhere to the schedule of his coven. He was smart enough to work it out on his own, smart enough to be writing his own almanacs instead of leaving it to the Coven Mothers. 

Mike sighed and stretched his legs, watching the people pass by, all dressed for the office. One man walked past him, focused on the phone in his hand, so he didn’t notice the paper that slipped out from the file he was carrying. Mike scrambled to his feet, jostling Trevor from his nap, and grabbed the paper before it could blow off, stumbling after the man.

“Sir! Sir wait a moment you dropped something,” He called and thankfully the man in question stopped, looking up from his phone in confusion. Mike skidded to a halt next to him and handed over the paper, looking up to meet his surprised gaze. In an instant Mike wished he hadn’t.

The man was beautiful.

There was no other word to describe him. His hair was the warm color of fresh honey, his soft eyes dark like cherry wood, framed by the thin, delicate lines of age and wisdom. His skin was lightly freckled, but it was so faint that if Mike weren’t looking he’d never see them. A constellation of small moles sat on his furrowed brow, his lips naturally curled at the corners despite their frown. Mike wasn’t much shorter than him, an inch at most, but there was something about the way the man held himself that made Mike feel small, dwarfed by his mere presence. Maybe it was the suit and the way the fabric was cut so perfectly for him, the cool gray of steel sharp and stunning on his figure. Or maybe it was the way his eyes, so clever and alert, seemed to notice everything, calculating the world around him into an equation that placed him above everyone else. 

And when their hands touched, Mike passing him the paper, lightning sparked in his skin, setting fire to his heart and stealing his breath away. 

“Thank you,” the man said, examining the paper before tucking it away in the file. Mike just kept staring. “Did you, uh, get hit by a car or something?”

“What?”

“You’ve got blood on you.” The man said, with a concerned expression. Mike’s hand flew to his neck, where the dried blood and claw marks could be seen.

“Oh no I uh, it was uh, a thing,” he stammered, adjusting his scarf to hide it. 

“A thing,” the man repeated.

“A thing.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No, no, I’m alright.”

“You sure?” the man waved his phone. “I could call you a cab if you needed. As a thank you.”

“It was just a piece of paper.”

“One that was key to a multi-million dollar lawsuit, kid,” The man smiled at him. “I think that’s worth a cab ride.”

“Thank you,” Mike said. “But I’m alright. My dog and I are going to head home soon.” He looked over at Trevor who was glaring at the man with an unamused pout. The Man arched an eyebrow, like he was unconvinced, but he dropped it.

“Alright, well don’t die out here on the sidewalk. If you keel over in front of my office I’d have to look at your corpse all day and that would really put a damper on things,” He said, his voice filled with amusement. 

The softness of the man’s voice made Mike smile, his insides turned to pudding. “You work around here?” he asked, in a slight daze.

The man nodded to one of the towering glass skyscrapers. “Up there. Pearson Hardman.”

“That’s the, uh, law firm, right?”

“Best in New York.”

“So I’ve heard.” Trevor barked and Mike rolled his eyes. “Sorry, uhm I have to go.”

The man nodded, eyes scanning Mike’s face in a subtle, searching manner. It made Mike’s skin go hot, color rising in his cheeks. “Thanks again-”

“Mike.”

“Thank you, Mike.”

And he was gone. 

Mike watched him be swallowed by the crowd, his breath and his heart beat following him into the depths of the city. 

“Mike?” came Trevor’s soft voice through the daze.

“Did you see him Trevor?” Mike asked, unable to breathe.

“He was a suit, Mike,” Trevor said gently. “He’s not for us.”

Mike sighed. “Trevor he was beautiful. It was like… It was looking at the North Star.” Trevor stared up at him in concern, his dark eyes framed by thick fur. “He’s my north star, bright, beautiful, never ending. You can’t see it, but I can. His soul was nothing but light.”

“Mike, he’s a suit,” his familiar said again. 

“But-”

“You know what the Coven Mother says about people like him.”

The daze shattered around him and Mike was sure he could feel his heart beginning to crack, deep in his chest.

“They do nothing but leave us hollow,” he muttered, repeating the Coven Mother’s words.

Trevor made a sympathetic noise and nuzzled his hand. “Come on, let’s get home.”

Mike hadn’t even gotten his name and already, his heart was breaking over him. 

*  
“You seem happy.”

Harvey looked up from his computer to see Donna watching him from her desk, her voice curious over the intercom.

“And why is that, Donna?” He asked, feigning a lack of interest.

“There’s color in your cheeks, you can’t stop smiling to yourself, you bought me coffee when I didn’t ask and you haven’t touched your Miles Davis even though Scotty is in town and you’ve got a massive lawsuit hanging over your head.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And you said your meeting was uneventful. Your meetings are never uneventful unless something happens before or after to capture your attention.”

He tried not to smile as she got up from her chair and hurried into his office. “So come on. Spill.”

“And if nothing happened?”

“I call bullshit and give Scotty a key to your condo.”

Harvey scowled. “I ran into someone on the street.”

“Someone you know?”

“A random kid.”

Donna raised an eyebrow. “You don’t give two shits about random kids on the street.”

“This one was different.”

“How so?” She asked, leaning on his desk.

Harvey shrugged, his chest feeling light. “I don’t… I don’t know, Donna. He just was.”

For a moment Donna looked like she might press the subject further, but Jessica swept into the office before she could, demanding Harvey and the settlement documents to follow her to the conference room asap or his ass was going to be kicked all the way to Boston, so she let it be. Harvey gathered up the files and straightened his jacket, glancing out the window at the city, where somewhere, on some little side street or wandering a back alley like a stray cat, was the kid he couldn’t stop thinking about.

“Stop grinning like that, you look like a fool,”Jessica told him when he met her in the conference room, their opponents making their way towards them from the elevators.

Harvey just grinned wider.


	2. Fickle Woes and Lesser Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike's never been all that good at following rules anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if anything this chapter just drives home the point that I MISS LOLA JENSEN and stuff. Also, Trevor is the Familiar as stated last chapter and there is the running joke/belief that witches consorted with their familiars so I thought it'd be a bit fun to bring into this. Also the herbology mentioned is as accurate as I can get it thus far, I'm still studying so bare with me. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

Three days had passed and Mike was no better off than he had been when he’d said goodbye to the beautiful man. He did however know his name. Against Trevor’s better judgement he had looked up the Pearson Hardman Employee Directory and sure enough, there he was, the newly crowned Senior Partner, Harvey R. Specter.

Harvey R. Specter.

Even his name held an uncommon power in it and it made Mike want him all the more. Because he knew it wasn’t love, it wasn’t allowed to be love. But it was some sort of primal need and want, to simply have the man in his presence, to drown himself in the man, in Harvey’s, essence and power. 

It was driving him insane.

The cigarette he was busy rolling fell from his fingers and Mike let out a frustrated groan. His back hurt from being hunched over his work for hours, his ass cold and sore from the wood floor he was sitting on, cross legged like a child with a stack of finished cigarettes by his knee. He had four orders to fill and then three more batches to make, just so he’d have something ready if anyone asked for them. He had the anxiety packs finished for Mr. Olsen and for Heather who lived three blocks away. He’d managed a rather delightful sleep inducing concoction for Joseph’s insomniac girlfriend. Mike had written himself a reminder on the back of his hand to make a batch for himself, his nightmares had gotten worse as of late. 

Trevor looked up from where he was napping, his small feline form curled up into a ball. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing just too much work.” Mike grumbled and staggered to his feet, being careful not to kick the cigarettes. He waved a hand at the bottles of wine he’s set on the window sill in his kitchenette, the freshly brewed and fermented ones on the kitchen table ready for labeling. The smallest bottle, with blue glass and a faded label, lifted off the sill and flew to Mike’s outstretched hand.

“When they sing about drinking away heartache in country songs, they aren’t being serious, you know.”

“I’m not drinking away my heartache,” Mike told him, opening the bottle and taking a swig, the alcohol burning his throat.

“Which is why you’re drinking that wine in particular.”

Mike looked at the bottle, read the label and sighed. It was the brew he had made when Jenny had left him, with Amaranth and Apple blossom and Barley, and the rich deep purple grapes that were sweet on the tongue. 

“Sometimes I really don’t like how smart you are,” Mike muttered, downing another mouthful.

“He’s just a suit, Mike.”

“Stop saying that!” he snapped. Trevor’s ear flattened against his head and he jumped to his feet. “He’s not…. He’s more than… Oh goddamn it.” Mike leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, the bottle still in his hand. Trevor watched him from his spot on the bed.

“You don’t even know the guy. He’s probably a massive douche.”

Mike chuckled. “With my luck he definitely is.” 

“Then why are you still hung up on him?” Trevor stretched, his back arching in a perfect black curve. 

“I…” Mike sighed and rubbed his face. “I can’t get him out of my head, Trev. I see him everywhere, in my sleep, on the corner. His name came up in my fucking tea leaves for shits sake.”

“Now that’s weird.”

“Right?” Mike huffed a weak laugh. “I feel like I’m going to see him again, like I have to, like I’m meant to be a part of his life and he a part of mine. But I don’t know how or why or when or if he’ll even know.” And he felt like his heart was breaking because of it. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, the bottle dangling from his hand.

He listened as the bed creaked with Trevor’s movement, a sound caused by a heavier weight which meant he had shifted into something bigger, probably a dog. He liked to shift into a dog when Mike was upset, liked to drape himself across Mike’s lap to comfort him. He absently felt the bottle being pulled from his hand and he let it go without a fight, listening as the bottle was set down on the floor. 

“I don’t know what to do, Trev,” Mike admitted in a weak voice. “I feel like I’m going mad.”

He opened his eyes when calloused fingers touched his cheek. Trevor knelt in front of him, human, pale hands with long fingers reaching out to cup Mike’s face. His hair was an inky black, cut messy and short. His eyes were clever and dark, in sharp contrast with his pale, wintry skin. Patterns of freckles mapped themselves out across his long, agile body, reminding Mike of footprints in the snow.

“Can’t have that, now can we?” Trevor said, before leaning in and kissing Mike’s forehead. Mike closed his eyes with a tired smile and leaned into the touch, Trevor’s lips pressing light kisses across his face, leaving the skin burning with a delightful spark.

“Trevor what’s my rule?” Mike asked and Trevor hummed against his neck. “Trev.”

“Don’t drink anything from an unmarked bottle?”

“Put on your pants.”

Trevor groaned and pulled away, flopping dramatically onto the ground in front of Mike. “But pants are so lame,” he whined. He stretched so Mike could get a nice view of his long pale limbs. “Besides if I’m going to be taking them off soon what’s that point?”

“And what makes you think you’ll be taking them off?” Mike asked, not missing the teasing glint in his familiar’s eyes.

“Because you’re lonely and hung up on some asshole in a fancy suit.” Trevor rolled back onto his knees and crawled into Mike’s lap. “And the best remedy for that is getting laid. And let’s be completely honest I’m the best lay you have ever had.”

Out of habit, Mike’s hands came to rest on Trevor’s hips. “Tell me, when did you get so goddamn arrogant?”

“You love it.”

“Irrelevant,” Mike shot back and Trevor laughed.

“C’mon, boss, let me do my job and take care of you.” 

Trevor’s cunning lips pressed against Mike’s pulse, soft against his neck and he sighed, melting into his familiar’s arms.

“Alright.”

As most familiars were, Trevor had been Mike’s constant in life. When a child was born a witch it wasn’t unlikely for them to acquire a familiar of their own at a very young age, either by accidental summoning or the right spirit just happened to take notice. Trevor had found Mike on Mike’s fourth birthday and hadn’t left his side since. He had been there through everything: the bullies in grade school, the bullies in middle school, the death of his parents, grammy getting sick, falling for Jenny, getting kicked out of college, losing Jenny, losing Grammy. Through everything Trevor had been there as Mike’s loyal guide and guardian, until Mike wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to imagine, let alone survive, life without him.   
It wasn’t all sunshine and frolicking though. Trevor caused trouble, he loved causing trouble when he could. He didn’t like rules, at least any not set by Mike. He was a jealous creature, with a hot temper and a nasty taste for revenge. It made him hard to control and he and Mike would fight until one or both of them was reduced to tears and probably bleeding. But that didn’t really matter to Mike, not in the long run. Not when Trevor helped him practice his charms or kept him warm at night, or protected him on deliveries or just from the nasty nightmares Mike faced each night. 

The sex had been Trevor’s idea, back when Mike was an awkward high school virgin who had somehow managed to blow up the chemistry lab after being turned down and mocked by the boy he had liked. When Mike had been showering after wrestling practice, everyone else having gone home, Trevor slid out of his bag and joined Mike, his sleek, black, rat snake body shifting into that of a human for the first time. His touch had been so gentle and so careful, like Mike was something fragile and precious, that it had made Mike break down in tears. Trevor had kissed them all away.

Mike had never really had a problem with it. He picked up the occasional one night stand and Trevor was alright with it. When Jenny had come into their lives Trevor had backed off, let Mike fall in and out of love. And besides, the history of witches was riddled with accusations of sexual misconduct with spirits, demons, and even the devil. Engaging in some hedonistic fun with a familiar didn’t seem so bad in comparison to that, and most witches that Mike knew did the same. 

Take for example, Lola, Mike’s friend and coven sister, who came barging into his apartment an hour later, to find him and Trevor curled together in bed, sated and a little bit high.

“Lola!” Mike said with a dopey grin, trying to sit up despite Trevor being half draped over top of him.

“Jesus christ Mike. I hear you got grabbed by a brethren and this is how I find you?” Lola snapped, dropping her bag and slamming the front door. “What the hell you didn’t think you should tell me you weren’t dead?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I just,” Mike stammered trying to get out of bed. He pushed Trevor off, his familiar groaning and burying his face in the pillow, completely unashamed with his nudity while Mike scrambled for pants. “I just thought. They tell us to lay low and I’m fine really I am and I just had so much-”

Lola held up a hand and Mike felt his voice leave his throat. He croaked and gasped for air as her fingers closed in a tight fist, his voice caught against her palm. Goddamn her and her affinity for Disney tricks. “I don’t give two shits what the coven mothers say about laying low, you tell me if you almost get killed you asshole.” Mike nodded, holding his throat. The lack of vibration always unsettled him. “We all thought you were dead and I nearly had a freakin panic attack because of it. It was inconsiderate and stupid of you.”

“He’ll apologize if you give him his voice back,” Trevor grumbled from the bed.

With a sigh, Lola opened her fist and Mike squawked when his voice returned. “Apologize for being an asshole.”

“I-I’m sorry” he gasped out. “God I hate it when you do that.”

“It’s effective,” Lola snapped. Then her dark eyes softened. “Come here and let me see your neck.”

Mike stepped forward and let her examine the healing wounds around his neck. The skin was pale and fresh, but in another day or two they’d be gone and no one would ever know. Lola made a sad, empathetic noise in the back of her throat and pulled her hands away in favor of hugging him tightly.

“I am sorry,” Mike said softly against her inky black hair. They had been friends since college, the closest thing to siblings either of them would ever really have. 

“You scared me.”

“I know. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes it will,” Trevor chimed in.

“Shut up, Trev.”

“So what happened?” Lola asked, letting him go and sitting on the kitchen counter. 

Mike told her the story, from the moment he had walked into the shop until he had left the glorious Harvey R Specter standing on the street, at which point Trevor made an indignant noise from the bed. 

“He sounds completely unimpressive,” Lola said, by way of advice. Mike threw up his hands and sat back on the floor to finish rolling the last few cigarettes. “I mean it’s not like he was James Dean or anything.”

“He was prettier than James Dean, okay?”

“That’s not possible.”

“He was!” Mike shot back at her. “I mean sure he was a pretty guy in a suit and frankly there are hundreds of suits in this city but for some reason when I saw him I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe and when I touched him-” he laughed, “Lola I felt like I had lightning running through my whole body.”

She stared at him.

“He felt a Zing,” Trevor said.

“It was not a Zing,” Mike sighed. “Don’t quote some silly kids movie-”

“No he’s right. It was a zing,” Lola agreed.

Mike scowled. “Now you’re just being mean.”

“Okay, maybe Zing isn’t the best word but-”

“No.” Trevor sat up, pointing at Lola. “Don’t you dare. I know what you’re going to say don’t you dare say it. He is going crazy as it is do not-”

“Have you seen him again?” Lola asked, quickly stealing Trevor’s voice with a wave of her hand.

“No. I looked him so I could find his name but other than that, he just pops up in dreams and readings,” Mike told her.

She considered him a moment.

“I say give him a shot.”

Mike looked up in surprise. “What?”

Lola shrugged. “If he’s turning up in dreams and readings then you’re not meant to be finished with him yet. Divination 101, idiot.”

Mike knew that Trevor was turning red faced behind him, trying to talk despite not having a voice. “But I… The coven mothers…”

“I know what the coven mothers say, Mike. Why do think I haven’t bothered tying a man down yet?” She ran a hand through her dark hair and sighed. “Look the worst that can happen is he isn’t interested in you. Or you have some role in his death, you know, god forbid. At best you either find someone you’ll spend a lifetime with or at the very least get fucked out of your mind.” She paused. “Is he even gay?”

“I have no idea.”

Her face contorted in poorly hidden laughter. “You have the shittiest luck.”

“Not arguing with that.” Mike finished the last cigarette and sighed. “Only trouble now is there’s absolutely no reason for him to even look at me again. I mean c’mon Lola. He’s a suit, with perfect hair and a massive paycheck. Look at me, what reason do I have to be in Midtown?”

Lola considered him a moment. “You said he works near the park?”

“Northern Border, yeah.”

Pulling out her cell phone, Lola frowned as she thought. “I might have a job in that neck of the woods tomorrow. You can tag along if you want.”

“What kind of job?” Mike asked, perking up.

“One of the wolves I helped last year just turned his mate. They need a new identity for her to keep the cops off their backs. And they had a kid before she turned, I want to see the halfling for myself.”

“I’m not sure I could really help though.”

“Well if you could whip up something to help teething pain I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

Mike scrambled to his feet and went to dig in the kitchen cabinets. He had made some teething chews a few weeks earlier. With a cry of triumph, He pulled out the little jar filled with what looked like pretty blue gemstones. He found little kids liked putting shiny things in their mouths, what better way to administer medicine than by making it look shiny? He grinned at Lola. “Not even a hint of monkswood.”

“And he’s hired.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.”

“Alright, I’ll be by around 2 tomorrow, so be ready. We’ll head over and hopefully wrap it up around 4 or 5, giving you plenty of time afterwards to woo said strumpet.” 

Mike kissed her cheek with a smile. “You’re an absolutely devilish saint, Lola.”

“I know,” She said. She touched his neck again and sighed. “Please be careful, Mikey. I don’t want to lose you too.”

“You won’t.”

She nodded, tossed Trevor back his voice, and left them.

“You okay?” Mike asked, sitting down on the bed and running a hand over Trevor’s hair.

“I hate her sometimes.”

“I know you do.”

“This is a bad idea, Mikey.” Trevor said.

“I’ve had worse.”

Trevor sat up and pressed his forehead to Mike’s shoulder. “Promise me you’ll jump ship the moment you feel uneasy.”

“Trev-”

“Just, please,” Trevor begged. “Please just promise me.”

Mike turned and kissed Trevor’s nose. “I promise.”

“Do you want me to go with you tomorrow, or keep my distance?”

“I trust you. It’s your call.”

Mike didn’t sleep that night. Instead he began working on the protective spells for the coming winter, reinforcing the windows against ghosts and the cold. He paced and paced until he worried he might wear a trench in the old wood floors. He hung a new amulet and cast a barrier spell on the front door to keep out ill will and unwanted guests, drew a devils trap on the living room floor in invisible ink as a final precaution, and, once he had nothing else to enchant, protect, or conjure, he sat there, in the middle of the trap, staring at the cracked ceiling.

The job itself was easy.

Lola worked with the parents, establishing a new identity for one Gertie Jacobs (whether that was her new name or not, Mike didn’t ask) while Mike played with the pup in the next room. Her name was Matilda, and as far as toddlers went, she was a beautiful, rambunctious child. Mike fed her the teething chews, which she shoved into her mouth without any hesitation, and animated her toys, leading them around the room in a colorful show while she chased after them on shaky little legs. 

He was sent on his way just a little after 5, Lola waving him off with a thank you and a smile. He made his way down the Northern Border of the park towards the office building Harvey had indicated three days earlier. Being Friday evening, many Suits were already heading home from work for a nice weekend, briefcases in hand as they hurried for their hired cars or for the subway. With any luck, Mike wouldn’t have to wait long for Harvey to appear amongst them.

He settled down by the coffee cart and sorted through his mental library, reciting various passages from various books while he waited. He was halfway through Chapter 9 of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when he caught sight of a familiar figure making his way down the front steps of the building. Mike hopped up from the bench and melted easily with the crowd, hoping to make it look like he was just passing through and not waiting like a mildly creepy yet ever loyal pet. A few quick steps and he was crossing right in front of Harvey. He held his breath and waited as he passed him.

“Mike?”

“Hm?” He replied, turning in feigned surprise. Harvey looked exhausted, his eyes framed by bruised circles, shoulders weighed down by some heavy, unseen weight, scowl lines sharp around his mouth. “Oh hey, Mr. Multi-million dollar lawsuit.”

Harvey chuckled. “I never introduced myself, sorry.” He offered his hand. “Harvey Specter.”

“Not a bad name,” Mike teased, shaking his hand. The pleasant spark of lightning shot through him again and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks. Glad to see you didn’t keel over in an alley.”

“You explicitly told me not to, so I did my best.”

That made Harvey’s face soften. “Your neck looks better.”

“Yeah, the worst of it’s gone. Won’t be able to see it in a few more days.” Mike shrugged. “How’d your lawsuit play out?”

“The opposing counsel is a weaselly little shit who won’t agree to settle unless he and his client get to thoroughly humiliate mine. He’s dragging it out as long as possible.” Harvey said with a scowl. “It’s been two weeks already.”

Mike hated the tension in his shoulders, hated the way his brow furrowed and brought out the pain in his eyes. He wanted to hold him, smooth away the anger in his features, put him at ease, work the tension from his body until the same loose smile he had seen earlier that week returned. “I wish there was some way I could help.”

“Confidentiality agreement. Even if there was some way you could, by law I wouldn’t be able to let you,” Harvey told him with a shrug. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Can I at least buy you a drink?”

Harvey blinked. “A drink.”

“Yeah I mean, it’s Friday and you look like hell. It’s the least I can do.” Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “I get if you don’t want to, but uh, I’d like to, if you’re, uhm, interested.”

“You propositioning me, sir?” Harvey asked, looking mildly offended.

Mike flushed. “I no! No that’s not I you-” Harvey started to smile. “You’re kidding.”

“I am.”

“Oh good, you’re an asshole.”

Harvey laughed and some of the exhaustion in his face receded. “I won’t deny that.”

“So, that drink?” Mike asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

Harvey nodded. “Sure. I can’t remember the last time I was propositioned.”

Mike laughed. “Would it be too soon to refer to you as a manwhore?”

“Funny, my secretary just called me the same thing this afternoon.”

“You’ll have to pick the bar though. I’m not in Midtown much.”

“No?” Harvey asked, nodding for Mike to follow as he lead the way down the busy avenue.

“Nah, I’m a Brooklyn kid, you know? I work in Manhattan sometimes but I’m not here for touristy stuff much. Don’t have the time.” Mike shrugged. He caught sight of a familiar crow following them at a distance and fought a fond smile. 

“And what is it you do exactly?” Somehow Harvey managed to ask that without sounding completely condescending, unlike everyone else Mike came across who had far better jobs than his.

“Bike messenger mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Nosy bastard, Mike thought with a smile.

“I apprentice at an apothecary too some days and do a little local investigative work.” at Harvey’s look of mild surprise Mike chuckled. “It’s not like private eye stuff. More like family lineage or the location of lost possessions. I tutor a bit in the neighborhood. Stuff like that.”

“Well aren’t you the homegrown boy next door.” Harvey teased.

“Shut up, not everyone is a private school kid turned ivy leaguer.”

There was a pause before Harvey simply replied. “I grew up in the Bronx.”

And that was that. They chatted lightly about Harvey’s work, about Harvard, where he had gone to law school, about his boss, the Pearson of Pearson Hardman, about this and that and Mike found himself getting drawn deeper and deeper into the nameless sensation that overtook him in Harvey’s presence. He wanted to know everything, he wanted all the secrets the man had and everything he knew about the world, all wrapped up in beautiful old leather bound volumes. He wanted to sit at his feet and listen to his stories and theories and deepest desires, like a small child at Christmas. Harvey wouldn’t tell him much, nothing that carried much emotional weight, but Mike could see the faintest beginnings of trust forming around his words, tickling at his dark eyes, tugging at his smile as he relaxed into their companionship.


	3. Grace and it's Afflictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> moving right along to the fun part, aka Harvey is not subtle and sex is fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the whole getting together thing isn't really the main focus so wooo sex times ahoy  
> sorry i'd have more to say but nanowrimo has fried my brain for the most part and it's a miracle any fandom work is being done in the first place.

The bar Harvey chose was far less Midtown Chic than Mike had expected. It was off the beaten path, with an old wood interior and warm lighting. The bartender waved to Harvey, giving Mike the feeling that maybe he was a regular, but when the man at the ancient (and Mike meant ancient, the thing must have been from the early 1900s) greeted him with a “It’s been a while kid”, things made a little more sense.  
They took their seats at the fairly crowded bar and Harvey ordered a scotch on the rocks, leaving Mike to order his own drink a spiced rum and cider. 

“That any good?” Harvey asked when the bartender slid them their drinks.

Mike offered it to him. “I like the way I make mine better but it’s not bad.”

He didn’t expect Harvey to hold his hand and carefully tilt the glass so he could take a sip, his dark eyes fixed on Mike’s. Take the glass, sure, that made sense. But Harvey purposefully took hold of Mike’s hand and held tight while he took the drink. Mike felt the color rise in his cheeks and suddenly the whole propositioning joke seemed like a lot less of a joke. 

“Not bad,” Harvey conceded. He offered his own. “You a fan of scotch?”

“Not usually but I can be convinced.” 

Harvey held the glass for him and let Mike taste it, a small, mildly possessive smile on his lips. It was strong and it burned a fiery path down Mike’s throat that made him sigh.

“Oh that’s nice,” He said, pulling back, but not before Harvey reached out a wiped a drop of the amber liquid from his lip.

Yeah, so much for propositioning being a joke.

The only question Mike had now was who was doing the propositioning.

“So,” Harvey said after another sip of scotch. “Not that I particularly care or anything. But what happened to your neck? I take it those scars are from the day we met?”

Mike touched the harsh scars around his neck and shrugged. “Its kind of hard to explain.”

“You in some kind of trouble?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” Harvey simply watched him, waiting for a better explanation. “It’s… complicated. And stupid. And really just a result of my own idiocy. It’s nothing to really worry about.”

“I never said I was worried.”

“Oh how compassionate you are.”

Harvey smiled and Mike wanted to die. But the good kind of wanting to die. the kind where, were this to be his last moment on earth, despite everything, he’d be ok with it, because he got to see Harvey smile. A real, honest smile, with white teeth stained from too much coffee, with laugh lines pulled tight around his lips and eyes, and the faint blush that dusted his high cheek bones. And he was the cause of it, his harmless teasing had made this beautiful man smile like that.

Yeah, it was a good kind of wanting to die. It made Mike feel all warm inside, made him happy, made him trust.

They talked about everything and nothing for close to two hours, ordering a handful of various drinks, sharing them, tasting them, moving closer to each other on their stools until their shoulders were touching. As the night strolled on the bar grew a little more crowded, people shouting to each other and even dancing to the little piano with drinks in their hands. Mike wanted to ask Harvey to dance, but even he found it a little silly for their first proper outing. But he wanted to, and he vowed he would, one day, see Harvey dance.  
On their seventh drink, something Mike forgot the name too, but it was spicy and warm on the tongue, Harvey leaned in and spoke against his ear.

“I’d really like to take you home with me,” he said.

Mike scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Alright you say that to every pair of long legs you see don’t you?” He asked, expecting Harvey to laugh or brush it off and swear he only had eyes for Mike. Because if Mike were to try and get laid, that’s what he’d do, go for the cheap trick that made someone feel special.

Apparently Harvey was a different breed.

His eyes, warm in the orange haze of the bar, scanned Mike’s face with some sort of far off longing, or was it confusion, as he watched Mike carefully until Mike could feel the color rising in his cheeks. Harvey wasn’t laughing, or smirking, to trying to talk his way out of it. He was still, silent, considering Mike as he was, like he could see everything.

“W-what?” Mike asked.

“It’s weird. I do say that,” Harvey said finally. “I say it a lot.” His lips curled into a faint, amused smile and he looked away. “Though for some reason this time I mean it.” Mike stared, wide-eyed and face flushed as Harvey downed the rest of his drink, not sure what to say. “Didn’t mean to cross a line kid, sorry.”

“I thought you were straight,” Mike said quickly.

Harvey made a uncommitted gesture with his hands. “I’ve gotten to a point in my life where my sexuality is so flexible it might as well be a slinky and I’m pretty okay with it.” He carefully met Mike’s eyes and actually managed to look sheepish for a moment. “Taking a guy home is risky with work but I find myself not caring about consequences tonight. But I’m sorry, if I presumed-”

Mike moved before Harvey could finish his sentence and kissed him, holding his face carefully in his hands. It was awkward until Harvey met him halfway, kissing him in return until tongues started becoming involved and Mike was so short of breath his lungs ached in his chest.  
“Is that a yes?” Harvey asked.

“On one condition,” Mike said after a gulp of air.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t think I want it to just be a one time deal.” Mike caught the brief flicker of panic in Harvey’s eyes. “I’m not talking a white picket fence or fancy dinners every week. Just…” he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Harvey’s, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at those goddamn eyes that seemed to go on forever. “Tell me I can see you again after this.”

Harvey nodded. “Okay, kid. Okay.”

 

How they got back to Harvey’s condo Mike couldn’t really remember. 

There was something about a cab and trying not to get arrested for public indecency but Mike was too busy drowning in Harvey’s kisses to really care. The man’s hands were like fire against his skin, branding him with the lightest touch, claiming him without any effort at all. It took a surprising amount of will not to just straddle him in the cab, but Mike was proud of himself for being able to show some restraint. Once they made it into Harvey’s private elevator, however, (yeah the douche has a private elevator god Trevor was never going to let him live this down), all rules of propriety seemed to be tossed out the window.   
Harvey pressed Mike against the glass wall as he kissed and bit at his neck with surprising gentleness. He tried to avoid the already scarred skin, which Mike was grateful for. He didn’t seem to have any qualms about leaving lasting marks of his own though, as Harvey bit down on Mike’s pulse, making him go practically limp in his grasp. He could feel Harvey’s clothed erection pressed against his ass, grinding against him in a slow, teasing rhythm. 

“Mike, open your eyes for me,” he said against Mike’s ear, his hand coming to hold Mike’s throat carefully. “I want you to see something.”

Really, Mike wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but when he opened his eyes and found himself greeted with a breathtaking view of the city, all lit up like an ocean liner on the darkest sea, glittering under an obsidian sky he was stunned.

“And yes, before you make a joke, I do use that trick on everyone,” Harvey said. 

Mike giggled. “You’re such an asshole.”

Harvey bit at his ear. “And you’ve got a thing for it don’t you?”

Mike wouldn’t admit it, but yeah, yeah he did.

Clothes were shed along the way, Mike’s shoes left just outside the elevator. Harvey’s suit was dropped half in the living room, half in the hall. Mike’s clothes were tossed one way or another until they were naked and Harvey was lifting Mike into his arms and holding him tightly as he carried him to the bedroom. Mike squawked when Harvey tossed him on the bed, but it wasn’t long before he was working his mouth across Mike’s chest, biting at his skin, leaving a scatter of hickies across his stomach. 

It was the first time in months Mike felt the urge to surrender to someone and actually followed through on it. He simply lay back against the bed and let Harvey take him apart, piece by piece. Harvey controlled everything with casual, practiced ease, from the way his mouth worked Mike’s cock, swallowing him down until the head hit the back of his throat, the way he guided Mike’s hands to his hair while he did, letting Mike tug and pull as much as needed to keep from coming. Despite his claims that he didn’t take a man home often, he seemed to have no trouble preparing Mike, his long fingers pressing deep and stretching Mike wide, his hips arching off the bed as they teased his prostate.

“Who fucked you?” Harvey asked, pulling off Mike’s cock with an obscene pop.

“What?” Mike forced his eyes open and craned his neck so he could look down between his legs.

“You’re looser than I imagined.” Harvey slid a fourth finger into Mike and pressed as deep as he could, Mike swearing at the slight sting of pain. “Which means someone probably fucked you yesterday or today.” He leaned down and sucked on the soft inside of Mike’s thigh. “I don’t really enjoy adulterous affairs, they’re too messy to clean up.”

“I’m not seeing anyone.” 

“No?”

“No.” Mike would tell him about Trevor later, if it ever got brought up. Knowing his familiar, he’d introduce himself in some manner, probably as some sort of crazy pet or back alley creature who wasn’t fond of Harvey in the slightest. If he had the decency to appear as a human and introduce himself, then introductions and explanations along the lines of the “friends-with-benefits” excuse could be made. 

Harvey made a soft noise of acknowledgement and pulled out his fingers. He kissed Mike while he grabbed for the condoms and lube and Mike could still taste the heavy bite of alcohol on his tongue. “Are you seeing anyone?” he asked, biting at Harvey’s bottom lip.

Harvey looked away, carefully rolling on the condom and adding a bit more lube. His breath caught when his fingers closed around his own cock and Mike wanted to just climb into his lap without another moment’s thought. Harvey’s hands, though, slick with lube, grabbed Mike’s hips before he could. “Would you care if I was?”

Mike made to answer, but Harvey took the momentary pause to push Mike’s long legs up and thrust into him, so that the only thing Mike could say or think was a long, pained, drawn out- “F-fuck!”

It made Harvey pause for a second, watching Mike’s face closely for any sign of true discomfort, but Mike let out a low breath and leaned back against the bed, rolling his hips up so that Harvey’s cock was in him to the hilt. That was all the confirmation Harvey needed it seemed. He pressed Mike’s legs further apart and gave a few short thrusts, letting Mike adjust, before he latched his teeth onto Mike’s neck and began fucking him in earnest.   
The bed moved under them, the drag of the wood against the floor loud against Mike’s ears. The only other thing he could hear was the ragged sound of Harvey’s breath, the broken moans that were punched out of him as he fucked Mike hard and fast. Mike knew he was getting louder and louder with each sharp thrust of Harvey’s hips but whenever he tried to cover his mouth, Harvey would pin his hand to the bed.

“H-harvey fuck, oh god,” quickly became “fuck harder, harder, please,” which eventually ended up a jumble of pleading whines, whimpers, and outright sobs. Harvey kept talking, hushed words of encouragement, telling Mike how perfect he was, how good he looked like this, how he couldn’t stop thinking about him every day no matter how hard he tried. And maybe it was the alcohol and the adrenaline and the sex that made him admit it to Mike, or maybe something had broken between them and Mike’s magic was working without his consent, but Harvey held him like he was something precious, arms wound around his chest, cradling his head in his hand. Mike came with a breathless sob, lips against Harvey’s ear. He could feel Harvey shiver under his touch, feel his body tighten like a violin’s string just before it snapped. And when it did, Harvey coming with a broken groan against the hollow of Mike’s throat, something in the room around them settled.   
It was a heaviness that suffocated Mike. There was a finality to it, something permanent and lasting, a seam being sown between the them with thread and words and shivering touches. Sex, as Mike had known it, had never carried something like that before, never, not with anyone. It had been sex, two body’s seeking pleasure before parting and moving along their separate paths.   
But with a sense of dread and, as Harvey cleaned them up and curled around Mike like a large cat, holding him, petting his hair, whispering something that sounded dangerously like love, a sense of overwhelming, unimaginable joy, Mike realized that this was an ending.  
Whatever had happened before that night, whatever he had been, had been meant to do, had now ended. The Dharma’s wheels were turning, the world and it’s wiles shifting as they slept. 

Come morning, there would be a beginning.


End file.
